ONL

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The Walking Dead

Alexander Polawski

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Alexander Polawski

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Character Summary

Name: Alexander Polawski
Aliases: Al, Alf, Chatter
Age: 58
Birthday: 8th of March, 1952
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Birth Place: Chicago, Illinois
Location: Somewhere between the Bamahas and Miami
Gender: Male
Major/Minor: Electronic engineering
Occupation: Store-owner, electronic appliances. Formerly Specialist, US Army radio-operator.
Languages: English

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Appearance

Height: 5ft 9 inches
Weight: 170lbs
Build: Aging, but still somewhat fit
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Brown, now mostly greyening
Skin Tone: Light
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Small gunshot wound at his left thigh, various cuts and bruises at his hands and arms.

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Psychology

Cool-minded * Enclosed * Caring * Compulsive

Sexuality: Heterosexual
Relationship Status: Widowed
Personality:

Alexander has seen some shit through his life, which clearly affects him. Alexander has his ways of getting through his issues, one being a man of ritual. He has several proceedures for almost everything that he does now-a-days, making him seem compulsive and in constant need of order to keep himself in check. Hiding his emotions is another way of coping with the world and himself. Conversation about personal issues he stears away from as far as humanly possible. He speaks of the present and to a very small degree of his past, but not enough to understand the grey bearded man. And for that he seems cold to others, as if not wishing to show himself to them.

That doesn't mean he dislikes others, for Alexander still knows how to laugh, how to smile, how to talk and how to live, if just a little. As long as he doesn't have to talk like he's with a pshycologist, people will slowly find an eldering man who can find joy in conversation. Especially those he feels he can trust, and perhaps even those he'll find worth fighting for. At good days, you might even be able to find him joking about himself. At bad ones, he'll stay away from others and won't talk to anyone.

Habits: Fiddles with a rosary, unbuttoning and buttoning his clothes repeatedly, counting his ammunition and staring blankly.
Hobbies: Tinkering with anything he can get his hands on, especially electronics.
Fears:

• Losing his rosary, pictures and the likes.
• Getting intoxicated.
• People knowning his whole past.

Likes: 6 minimal

• Fish
• Tinkering and working with his hands
• Walking around
• Cleaning
• Alone-time
• The Rolling Stones

Dislikes: 6 minimal

• Disorder
• Enquisitive people
• People touching his stuff
• Rice
• Heights
• The Kinks

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Cards On The Table

Pre Outbreak Skills: Max 5 - History must reflect these knowledge's

• Rifle
• Radio operator
• Electronic engineering
• Sailing
• Fishing

Post Outbreak Skills: Max 7 - Each Type of Gun Counts as 1 skill, Machete and Sword each are separate. History must reflect learning these skills.

• Axe fighting
• Pistol
• Navigation
• Basic farming
• Route-planning
• Basic carpentry
• Jury-rigging electronics

Current Supplies:

• Current Clothing - Brown hiking boots, black pair of jeans, light grey t-shirt, blue sweater, brown winter coat, dark blue camp with a boat-logo on it.
• Rosary
• Fire Axe
• M9 Beretta
• 1 Magazine, 7 9mm rounds + 1 in chamber
• VXD-720 handheld radio
• Spare handheld radio
• Spare batteries
• Can of spam
• Water bottle
• A small bundle of pictures of various people, most including Alexander and a woman

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History

Your First Walker Encounter: The lack of response from the local coast guard on the Bahamas was met by a growing feeling of something being wrong. That's why Alexander turned his boat around from his wife's and his annual boat-trip around the Caribbean, and headed to the closest port he could find. Earlier news on the radio about riots had concerned the couple, but this was different. Alexander called over and over again over the radio, stating his boat's name and coordinates, but received no reply what-so-ever. It wasn't until they saw the harbour itself that they saw that something was indeed very wrong.

At first Alexander thought it was the Bahamas Coast guard that was watching them approach land, but they were too many to be simple them. Then he thought it was a group of tourists waiting for their boat. They all seemed to shout at their boat, but it wasn't until they got ever closer that they saw it; Them. Around the group of people all cluttered up, Alexander saw people all bloodied up, attacking those in the middle with vicious ferocity. Biting, clawing, grabbing and eating them. They weren't simple shouting at them; they were crying for help. As quick as he could, he managed to get some of the people onto his boat and sail away, leaving behind those now lying dead at the pier and the rest, moaning and grabbing after the boat as it sailed away.

History Before Outbreak:

Born into what can only be described as a pretty normal, American family in the 1950's, Alexander was raised by his father alone in the smack-middle of Chicago. His mother had died shortly after giving birth to, which had its impact on both his father and himself. The following years were a big mix of angrily shouting at one another for various reasons, and the peaceful fishing-trips they took on Lake Michigan. That was were his mother had wanted them to be, sitting in a boat and talking happily to each other. Life was good, at least out there. Back home it just got worse.

After turning 18, Alexander wanted to show that he could do whatever he wanted, especially when his father repeatedly told him what he expected of his son. Get an education, get a wife and settle down, just like he had done. Alexander on the other handed wanted excitement and a sense of purpose. His father told him to stop dreaming and listening to his friends. What did they know of adult life after all? That's why, alongside his buddies, he signed up for the army and went to Vietnam. It was to give his father a big "Fuck you". He regretted that decision ever since. Sufficient to say, he found Vietnam ever devestating, even for Nixon's slow withdrawal of US troops. Alexander was assigned and trained as a radio-operator, doing whatever his NCO told him to do and calling in air-strikes at those sorry bastards in the jungle. He survived, though not without scars, both physically and mentally.

Coming back home after three years overseas, he went straight to his father's funeral. Hit by a car on while drunk, a quick and painless death he was told. He hadn't cried during combat, but now he could hold back the tears no more. And so he promised to do what his father told him. Get an education, find a wife and settle down, which was exactly he did. He graduated from the University of Chicago with a degree in electronic engineering, which earned him a decent job with a radio-manufacturer on the East Coast. That's where he met his wife, Judith, and where he also set up his own store for electronic appliances and repairs. But one thing didn't change; his life in a boat and love of sailing.

History Since Outbreak:

The small group of survivors, now sailing away from the Bahamas pier, soon had more trouble than simple overcrowding. People began to turn, leading to several bites before the infected either got thrown overboard, got their heads caved in or both. It was soon apparent that while they could be somewhat safe on Alexander's boat - the inability of their attackers to get onboard from the water being one proof -, it was far from a long-term solution. Who could tend to the wounds of those attacked? Where could they go to find the army? Government? Anyone who could help? What would they eat? Soon they all agreed to sail for Miami as quick as possible. Surely things couldn't be worse there.

To a certain extent, it was worse. They were met with the same sight Alexander and his wife had seen days before. Larger crowds of people at the docks, all angrily grabbing after the boat as they remained just out of distance. Docking in Miami was scrapped, and they decided to sail northward to find a more suitable harbour. As hours passed, more of the wounded began to turn, forcing Alexander to do something he hadn't done for years; kill someone. He had kept a pistol in his boat just for safety, but never dreamed of using it. When he did, over and over again over the coming days and weeks, he felt the black hole grow bigger inside his chest. Once they found a suitable pier somewhere north in Florida, their group had shrunk from 21 to 13. It would only shrink ever more.

They made a plan. A simple plan, but one that might work; gather up supplies of various sorts, sail out to an island off the coast, and try to live out there in isolation. The previous plan had been scrapped after a few days of staying on land, showing the dangers of living in close proximity to highly-populated areas. Both the infected and those still sane - as the group thought of it before the term "Walker" reached the group - posed a threat to them. It was best to live away, isolated and alone. The first months were harsh due to a constant lack of food and water, not helped in any way by the fact that none of the group actually had experience with farming beside gardening. Fishing helped, but only so far before they slowly began to grasp the concept of agriculture. They were hungry, but alive and safe for now. Walkers didn't appear that far out.

That was two years ago, before someone on that island died. Before anyone could react, the corpse sprung back to life, mauling its way through his wife's neck and others. Nobody knew how it had happened, at least those still alive after the incident. Regardless if the island was safe or not, Alexander couldn't stay there anymore, not after that. Some remainded there for various reasons, Alexander did not. If the island wasn't safe anymore, then why should they shy away from the mainland? More land, more people and more resources. It was a gamble worth taking.

Alexander and his now smaller group travelled through Florida, up north into Georgia for a better climate, though that was as far as their planning went. For Alexander it was just good enough to get away from past, and from his mistakes. They would have to learn to do better, to adapt or die. Some died, but the others learned. Scavening on their way north, they found whatever they needed to survive and more. Alexander himself found the use of walkie-talkies that he fixed when splitting the group into smaller parts. It was easier to sneak around the Walkers that way. Then the snow came, and an already weakened rag-tag group of survivors didn't fare well in the winter cold. One wandered off into the night in search of food, another was bitten by a Walker during sleep. The rest were killed when their shelter were overwhelmed by Them, while Alexander got away. Of that, however, he isn't proud.

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Extras

Character Quote:
"I'm getting too old for this shit..."
"The past we cannot change, but the future we can. Let us focus on that."
"Sure I can fix it, just give it to me!"
Theme Song: Gimme Shelter - The Rolling Stones
How Many Walkers Have You Killed: "Lost track back in Florida."
How Many People Have You Killed: "Personally, five or six since it all began. Indirectly? Well, you could say that napalm is one hell of a way to go out."
Why: "Back then it was war. Kill or be killed. But now...mostly out of mercy. Better let the experienced Vet do it, right?"
Anything Else: I'm just going to leave this here for no apparent reason.

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Sierra Vanguard

George Cuddlesworth - Codenam Lancaster

Name: George Alexander Upperton Cuddlesworth
Codename (Radio Call): Lancaster
Age: 30
Nationality: English
Role: Field agent
Appearance:

One of the last known pictures of George at Oxford University before leaving for new adventures, or so George called it.

George stands at an little more than average height of 6'1, with his dark, blue eyes and always well-styled brown hair. His face is of an elegant, English gentleman, with well-trimmed facial hair and an even better suit, which one can get an idea of his decent frame for upper-class man; not a macho-man by most means, but enough muscles to stand a fight.

Personality: George and Cassandra aren't too different from each other, his self-esteem matching hers just fine, his sarcastic comments (mostly directed towards her), and his will to accomplish a task by his way. But compared to Cassandra, George prefers to take more quiet and bloodless routes, usually involving espionage, diplomacy and hand-to-hand combat, though he does not shy away from a good gun-fight. He loves a good drink, his upper-class way of life, and himself of course. He does his best to go by the book, as long as it suits him well, and him too considers himself to be the more professional of the pair, stating that he does his work clean and smooth, while Cassandra always makes a mess, even if he ends up quite a few beds.

Service History: Born into prosperity on the 7th of April 1985, George never had a bad day in his life. His parents were both from a long line of rich merchants, land-owners, industrialists, diplomats and governors of Britain's past colonies, and it was only reasonable for George to follow in this path. He grew up on his family's estate in York, growing fond of the rich man's life and all that followed with it; swordsmanship, fox hunting, sailing, and women. He proved to be a good student too, going on to study law, international relations and politics at no other than at Oxford.

Like his father, grandfather, great grandfather and so on, George entered the armed forces to serve Queen and country, preferably as a fighter pilot or an officer, ending up as the latter after discrete encouragement from "unknown sources" with tons of money. Even for the obvious effect of the money, George was actually a decent army man, showing potential for SAS, though this is where his official records stops. As far as the public knows, George is serving down Iraq in the army.

-Top Secret-
Sierra Vanguard

Codename: Lancaster
Service record: Infiltrating several Russian arms-dealer groups; military and political espionage in China, Venezuela, Iran, Serbia, Egypt and Syria; assisting rebel forces and governmental forces in different civil wars and conflicts; retrieving key-components from North-Korean nuclear program...Classified.
Speaks five different languages, practices six different martial arts, skilled in use of light, medium and heavy firearms, expert in diplomacy, deception and espionage. High-value agent. Possible future confrontation with agent Liberty. Under evaluation.

Other: Like the spoiled upper-class man he his, his car of choice is a silver Aston Martin DB AR1 for which he loves dearly. Having given a lot of love and money (mostly money), the car is on top shape, and can compete with any new car anytime, anywhere, anyhow. In terms of phones, he always uses the newest of the Samsung Galaxy series, with plenty of useful gadgets that make him feel like James Bond, only better of course. And finally he always dressed as a proper gentleman, be it a clean-cut tailored suit of the finest Italian cloth or anything else fitting the occasion. Women turn their heads to take a look at this good-looking, finely dressed man, and George enjoys every second of it.

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Old One Rising (Reboot)

Jeremy Arthur Velera

Basics

Name: Jeremy Arthur Velera
Nickname/title: The Irishman, Jav, Lance Corporal
Gender: Male
Age: 29
Build/physicality: A typical worker’s body, Jeremy is nothing special. His left arm shows signs of scratching, as if someone had held it tight and scratched on it. Do not let that fool you though; he can take a beating if needed be.

Appearance

Background

Psychological status: Officially rehabilitated, but can incidents of backlashing trauma of shell shock.
Quirks, ticks, conditions, sensitivities to the paranormal: If suffering from shell shock, hears the tangled voices of The Elder Gods, though does not comprehend what they truly are. While sane, usually rubbing his eyes, as if crying or itching.

Magical potential (Y/N): Yes, but unlikely to master due to psychological trauma.

Personality: Like many veterans of the Great War, he does not like to talk about his experiences with it, and does his best to avoid people mentioning it. Other than that, and why he left Ireland, he is an open man who would not mind a good chat, preferably over a glass of whiskey. He is hard work, and prefers to take on problems head on with the most practical solutions. Only reason he wouldn’t like you or help you would be that you’re overly interested in the war, you are either German or English.

Hometown: Dublin, the Irish Free State. Currently residing in Arkham.
Education: British Secondary school, military training and service.
Occupation: Mechanic at “Ferguson & sons motor cars”.
Achievements: Awarded for longstanding service during the war; assassination of Loyalists and British officers; fleeing to America; finding a decent-paying job in Arkham.
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Religion/philosophy: Roman Catholic

Marital status: Engaged to Maggie Oswald. Fiancé home in Ireland, waiting for Jeremy to return or to afford herself to come to America.
Family status: Mother and father alive, one brother in prison, another brother dead on the shores of Gallipoli, sisters working in either Dublin or Manchester.

Biographical writeup:

Growing up in Dublin wasn’t easy for Jeremy, nor his family, but so it was for most families in Ireland. His family lived of their father’s mechanic shop, their mother’s cleaning the houses of the prosperous English who lived in the city, and their children’s small earnings from whatever work their parents found for them. Jeremy himself ended up spending much time in his father’s mechanic shop, growing to know quite a bit about machines himself. He never formally became an engineer, but his skills are that far from one with a degree.
Even with reoccurring financial problems for his family, and growing tensions in Ireland over Home Rule, the Velera children were able to attend school. Jeremy pulled his way through school, finishing Secondary School in Dublin. By that time, the Great War had already engulfed the continent and nearly half the world. Lord Kitchener called upon Britain’s finest to fight the Germans and Austrians; over what, Jeremy wasn’t quite sure, only that some Austrian was shot somewhere called Sarajevo, and all of a sudden the Germans are invading Belgium. Jeremy, wishing to prove his worth and to protect his beloved Ireland, enlisted.

Jeremy ended up in the 16th Division, primarily made up of Irish volunteers, undergoing months of training before they landed in the trenches of France in late December 1915. Eyeballed by their superiors, the Irish, seen as unreliable troopers, but men like Jeremy proving their worth in the exhausting trench war against the Germans. They held their trench just as good as any other Englishmen. Jeremy himself lost count of how many Huns he had shot while there, and how many times he was called down to the officer’s quarters to fix the water pumps. It all took its toll on him though; he lost more friends in the trenches than he made all his life in Dublin, shot and blown to pieces by the enemy, seen unfit for service after falling into the abyss of madness, known as “shell shock”, Jeremy too falling victim to it in the end.

Their section of the trench had just held back a German attack, and their officers ordered them to start the counter-attack. At first, it went well, only suffering minor causalities, as expected from the fine gentlemen staring at the maps, far away from the horrors of war with their bottles of wine and comfortable beds. Then they got in range of the German machine guns, and it all went down the drain. They retreated, but Jeremy himself couldn’t make it back to their trenches, and took shelter in a crater. Then he waited. Around him lay the bodies of dead comrades, so he thought; after waiting hours, through the day and dark night, until it started all over again. This time the Germans used poison gas, luckily Jeremy had kept his gasmask when they went across no-mans-land. His comrades hadn’t. Jeremy froze in shock as he saw what he thought were his dead comrades move as the gas seeped into the crater. Having played dead in fear of Jeremy being a German soldier, they could play no more as the gas reached their skin. They cried out in pain, clutching their eyes and gasping for air as they slowly died, skin blistering as if it was burning. And Jeremy could do nothing to save them. They screamed for so long, the screams burrowed themselves into Jeremy’s head, and he could hear nothing else. He screamed, just like his comrades in agony, and he just sat there for five long hours until they found him. Diagnose: Shell shock.
For months he could only hears the screams of his friends, or what he thought was their screams; it had been so long that he couldn’t remember if it were their voices, or something else. Something sinister, evil, ready to devour his soul. Never in life did he need God more than this. It made him mad, as if he wasn’t already. He was one of the lucky ones though; he could be saved. Months passed, and he emerged from Craiglockhart Hydropathic a cured man, fit for military service one more. By that time, the war was over. He returned to Dublin, ready to continue with his life. Then he joined the IRA.

Ireland wanted Home Rule, Westminster wouldn’t give it to them, and so they decided to fight for it. Jeremy had experience from the war, he disliked the union of Great Britain and Ireland, and had little to lose. He did his part in the civil war, killing British officers and Loyalists, being the sharpshooter he had become from the trenches. Even after the Irish Free State was established, he fought on for a fully independent, united Ireland, and for this, he had to flee. Flee from Dublin, from Ireland, from his family and beloved Maggie, from his life. He left for America.

He eventually ended up in Arkham, found work at a local automobile garage, and begun working. He needed enough money for another ticket, so that Maggie could finally join him in America to begin a new life. All through this, through the civil war and his new life, the horrors of the Great War haunted him, and sometimes, he found himself screaming at night. Had not the doctors found Jeremy to be sane though?

Then again, what did the mere doctors truly know of the forces beyond this world?

Miscellaneous information

Combative belongings: Webley Mk VI revolver, trench knife.
Noncombative belongings: The Holy Bible, wrench, pictures of his family and fiancé, his medals and uniform from the war, documentation of his rehabilitation from Craiglockhart Hydropathic.
Other information (optional): May or may not have connections with the IRA or the Irish mob on the East Coast.
Theme song (optional): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vYiG6AXbvvk

NPC Characters

Non-playable Character-list

Dr. Arthur Steiner - The Professor

Inspector Barry Lexington - The Tough Cop

Faye Desdemona - The Oracle

Dr. Martin Gabrowski - The Psychologist

Sean O'Reilly - The Student

Creatures of the Mythos
"The Old One"

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Heavy Nazis, Heavy Guns

To be added, once a certain Pole finds the character sheets...

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Deeper than the Sands

Haakon Johann Elvsgaard

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Haakon Johann Elvsgaard

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Character Summary

Name: Haakon Johann Elvsgaard
Aliases: Blondie, Johnny, John & Fish Eater
Age: 29
Birthday: September 9th, 1895
Ethnicity: Norwegian
Birth Place: Drammen, south-eastern Norway
Residence: Grand Continental Hotel Suite 251
How Long In Cairo: One month
Gender: Male
Major/Minor: Journalism/Political science
Occupation: Journalist for ‘Dagbladet’ (Norwegian equivelant of The Daily Mail)
Languages: Norwegian* & English*

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Appearance

Height: 5’8’’
Weight: 178lbs
Build: Average
Eyes: Dark green
Hair: Dark blonde
Skin Tone: Light, though showing signs of toning
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: N/A
Personal Style: Haakon, though by no means a rich man, likes to clothe himself in somewhat fashionable clothing, preferably a British style. An ironed shirt, jacket and suit pants, mostly clean and polished leather shoes. And to top it all, a well-worn fedora that has followed him through his short-lived career. At least that’s when he has time to clean and maintain it all. As for his hair, he prefers to keep it well trimmed and short, keeping it neatly hidden underneath that fedora of his. Another reason for wearing it is because of the shade it gives in the unrelenting heat of Egypt.

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Psychology

Sociable* Overly curious * Brave * Tall-taled * Quick-headed * Easily offended

Sexuality: Heterosexual
Relationship Status: Single
Personality: Haakon is well aware of the position he has reached within the few years after his graduation, and he isn’t one to hide it well either. He’s a guy for talking, and talking well about himself whenever he can, as if he’s afraid that he’ll be forgotten in a few years. It doesn’t matter if he adds a few details or retracts a few, as long as it puts him in a better position there and then. And if he has to push somebody else down further than himself to accomplish this, then so be it.

Now, it has to be said that there is a reason for his said position; even if Haakon is tall-talled and bragging, he is smart. Put into a situation he needs to get out off or solve, he’ll be quick enough to find a solution, be it a smart plan or not, but a plan he’ll come up with. Pulling off something unorthodox is also a characteristic of his, one that actually helped him get his promotion that he so often brags about. He won’t shy away from talking with you and getting you to say something, whether or not you intended it in the first place. A friendly smile and an interesting accent helps with that.

Habits:

• Taking off his fedora and ruffling his hair
• Whistling some old tune from home
• Writing down his thoughts on his notepad

Hobbies:

• Skiing
• Reading foreign newspapers
• Writing very vauge notes for his own, future biography

Fears:

• Being exposed for his bragging
• Bats
• Isolation

Likes:

• Snow
• A scoop
• Friendly company
• Liquor
• Being right
• Writing

Dislikes:

• The unbearable heat of North Africa
• Germans
• Unfruitful periods of work-time
• Overly spiritual people
• Psuedoscience
• Rice

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Cards On The Table

General World Skills:

• Speed-Typewriting
• Critical fact-checking
• International Relations
• Scetching
• Geography (‘Modern’ world)
• Basic camera-handling and photograph-developing
• German speaking and understanding

Combat Skills:

• Physical stamina
• Running
• Skiing
• Projectie weapon – M1893 Nagant Revolver

What Is On Your Person:

• Clothing – Light brown fedora; regular sized, white shirt with two upper buttons unbuttoned; dark brown full-lenght pants, folded up a few times in the heat; dark, light brown leather shoes; white socks; small, leather satchel slung over his shoulder containing several items;
• Wallet w/; cash (Norwegian Kroners and British Pounds); Journalist/Identity Card.
• Kodak camera c1920
• 1893 Nagant Revolver w/ 6 bullets loaded
• 12 additional bullets
• Notepad
• Several pencils
• Water flask
• Passport (Norway)
• Pocket watch

Residence:

• Travel guides to the Kingdom of Egypt
• Typewriter
• Photography-developtment tools
• Short casefile of deaths associated with the Pharao Curse
• Suitcase
• Several remedies for sun burns
• Notes of various kinds, both relevant and not

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History

What Brings You To Cairo: After having impressed the editor of the nation-wide Norwegian newspaper ‘Dagbladet’ a few times, Haakon was offered to follow a story that he was promised «Would make his career secure». It was about the various deaths that followed in the wake of The Pharao’s Curse, and the newspaper was not going to let any other Norwegian news-outlet get the scoop first; the latest event that took place was the mysterious stealing from the late Lord Carnarvon’s grave, and so Haakon hoped he would spend a few months in lovely Britain to investigate and write the story of his life.

Of course the editor left out the part that Haakon would be travelling to Egypt, not Britian as if the next grand event would take place at the very source of all this. But there he is, trying to interview people and dig up clues to write this article; an article that will once and for explain these mysterious events. And give him a fair payment of course.

Life Before You Moved To Cairo: Being born and growing up in a relatively small, industrial city in Norway gave Haakon very slim chances for an ambitious future; his father was a factory worker in one of the countless mills that dotted the river running through Drammen. His mother was mostly out cleaning the factory owner’s home, and only secondly at home to take care of the family. It was then left to their grandfather to take care of those at home; Haakon and his two little sisters. One of the many pasttimes of the family would be to have their grandfather read from the newspapers; even if it was an old one or already read, Haakon wanted to hear what was happening out in the world.

That eager for knowledge followed Haakon into school, and proved valuable for his otherwise bleak future. He learned quickly to read and write, and his texts easily surpassed those of his classmates, both to the dismay and joy of his parents. Joy because of their son’s accomplishments, but dismay because they feared he couldn’t follow what his dream was now forming to be; to be a journalist. For many years that dream was only that, a dream, as Haakon followed in his father’s footsteps working in the mill to save up for university, which was far from cheap. But he wasn’t idle either, oh no; he did his best to write short articles and the likes to the local papers, some of which he actually got published although not often recognized for.

At the age of 22, Haakon and his parents had saved up enough funds for their son to go to university in Oslo to study journalism. They feared, perhaps Haakon the most out of them all, that he wouldn’t survive the life of the academics, very different from a workman’s life. Once again, Haakon showed a surprising ability to prove everybody wrong as heg ot decent grades and praise for his work, until he could finally walk out of the university with an actually degree. It wasn’t long after that he was offered a job at ‘Dagbladet’, a nationwide, liberal news-outlet; he just did have a praisable position to speak of for the coming years. It wasn’t until he by sheer luck managed to be at the right place at the right time when the Beer Hall Putch took place in Munich and he was able to report on it first-hand. After that, everything was looking up for him.

Life Since You Moved To Cairo: The first thing that Haakon noticed when he set foot in Egypt, was the damning heat. The summers at home were warm, fair enough, but the kind of heat that poured down on him from all direction was almost unbearable for the norseman. But against all odds, he managed to percevere in the Orient, a place nobody he knew or knew him had set foot. As for the case he’s writing on, he doesn’t have too much to brag about. Only a few fleshed-out interviews with people connected with the Tutankhamon-excevation and assosiates of the late Lord Carnvarnon, though nothing solid so far. But it’s better than nothing, and having a reporter on the field gives his editor at him the reason for him staying there, for now.

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Extras

Character Quote: «You call that {insert something descriptive}? That’s nothing compared to what we have back home!»
«There’s always a story, if you keep digging and poking around.»
«Fordømte varme…jeg trenger snø.»
Theme Song: Queen - I want it all
Anything Else:

• Deep One Rising
• Sheshat

_{*By submitting this CS in its completion I am stating I have read all the rules for this Rp and am agreeing to follow them to the fullest with respect and courtesy. I acknowledge that I can and will be removed from the RP without warning if I break a rule or cause problems with my fellow Rpers or the GM.}

Relations & Clues

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The Notebook

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Haakon Johann Elvsgaard

"Haakon Elvsgaard, The Norwegian Dagbladet, pleased to meet you. Could I ask you a few questions?"

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║ ☯ Neutral ║ ✿ Friend ║ ❅ BFF ║ ♡ Infatuation ║ ❤ Love ║
║ ❦ Considered Family ║ ☣ Tense ║ ☢ Dislikes ║ ☠ Enemy ║

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☯ Vera Munn ☯
"The lady working at the museum? She surprised me with her actuall knowledge."

Seen as Haakon was in Cairo to investigate the mysterious events unfolding, he knew of a few ways of getting information; one such place was the museum, one of the places those involved with KV62 worked or buzzed around. He did not expect to forward his questions to a lady in a museum out of all places, but she responded well enough to without any nonsense. Every other theory or small hint of unexplainable clues, she simply passed over her head, which was fair enough for Haakon.

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☯ Harry Walsh ☯
"Overall Thoughts On The Character"

Relation Details

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☯ Haakon Johann Elvsgaard ☯
"Overall Thoughts On The Character"

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✿ Josephine Clarke ✿
"I’ve been honoured to be in the company of Miss Clarke; she’s a friendly face in a strange world, and I’m writing an article about her! "

One of the last things Haakon expected to find in Cairo, was a famous movie star that just so happened to be in the middle of a scandal. Josephine Clarke; beautiful, talented, clever and sociable, what was there not to like? It was another scoop to make for Haakon, but the two found a good tone and remained what one would call friends. But that doesn’t stop him from writing about her ever so much as before.

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☯ Nora Kingston ☯
"Overall Thoughts On The Character"

Relation Details

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☯ Reginald Keystone ☯
"Overall Thoughts On The Character"

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☯ Laura Ridgeway ☯
"Overall Thoughts On The Character"

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☯ Aziza Tarek ☯ "Overall Thoughts On The Character"

Relation Details

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☯ Abbas Zien ☯ "Overall Thoughts On The Character"

Relation Details

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Symbol [color=???]Characters Name[/color] Symbol
"Overall Thoughts On The Character"

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Lord Carnarvon And The Udjtat

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Other Clues Or Points Of Interest

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The Character Bunker of ONL - Please insert key-card and pun-scan for entrance

Band of Bastards

Jakob Norheim

Name (or known Aliases): Jakob Norheim - Codename "Viking"

Age: 32

Nationality: Norway

Affiliation: Allied SOE-operative, loyalty lies to his homeland and family. The Germans can go and fuck themselves slowly with a rusty pitchfork.

Role: Special Weapons Operative, handling heavy weaponry such as machine guns, mortars, artillery, anti-tank weaponry, improvised weapons and the like.

Appearance:

Jakob Norheim

Jakob is a pretty handsome guy, though not overly muscular or masculine. To the untrained eye, he might look like a happy and kind man, the kind that greets you passing the baker's shop on a Wednesday morning. His hair is blonde, his face cleanly shaven and washed, and his height making him stand nearly 6ft tall. To the die-hard Nazis, he's the perfect aryan. Too bad for them that this kind-looking man is neither kind, nor happy to be complimented by them.

Personality: Jakob's not an overly talkative type of man. When he does decide to talk, it's mostly a short, sarcastic comment followed by him walking away. He doesn't have time for your bullshit, unless you're a friend of his or the talk helps him in taking revenge on the Nazis. It doesn't mean that he loathes his teammates, it simply means that he'd rather be chatty once the mission is over. Then he can crack jokes, enjoy a cold beer and smile. Until then, get out of the way of his .303 Bren light machine gun.

Service History: Jakob didn't have much military training until the cold days of april 1940, when Norway was invaded. While the order to mobilize was sent out (by mail, how brilliant was that?), Jakob made his way north as fast as possible to join the ranks of Norwegian soldiers. He was ready to fight for King and Country. He didn't have to wait for long, as his company was sent out to hastely stop the advancing German forces. While not as well equipt as the Nazis, Jakob's company managed to hold of the Germans for several days, even after suffering heavy casulties, especially close-quarters combat. Jakob himself slowly began to change over the course of that battle, and the following campaign; the further Jakob and the Allied forces were pushed north, the more Jakob focused on killing Germans in as large quantity as possible, and in ever more violent ways. When, in mid-June, the Allied forces were effectivly pulled out of the Norwegian theatre-of-war, Jakob wasn't the man had once been. The cheerful Norwegian who had barely shot at rabbits before the war, was now replaced with a ruthless soldier who didn't give two fucks about the Germans.

That served the Allied High-Command pretty well, and so Jakob was placed in the infamous "Kompani Linge", where his ruthlesness was transformed into precision. He was by the end of 1943 more than a simple soldier; he was a talented commando, skilled in use of various weapons and tactics. No wonder he was sent on so many missions across the European coast between 1940-1943. On one particular mission, Jakob saved a certain British SOE-agent in an information-exchange. That man Jakob came to work with later on, slowly growing something akin a friendship between them.

Jakob's service record includes; several commando-raids on German coastal positions and installations, sabotage-operations behind enemy lines, extraction of Allied operatives and Naval-landings in Italy. And as of lately? Well, let's just say that a certain bird called for assistance in the Eagle's nest, and the "Viking" wouldn't waste any time in answering it.

Other: While Jakob can handle most weapons of both Allied and Axis origin, his weapon of choice is the Bren LMG, the M1911 Colt and his bajonet.

Speaks German fluently, English with an accent, and keeps a collection of German collar-emblems. Most of them are bloody, and you'd be better off not asking how he got them.

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Silvio Colani

Name (or known Aliases): Silvio Colani, also known as "Machine gun Colani"

Age: 29

Nationality: Italian American, born and bred New-Yorker

Affiliation: US Army, OSS-Agent. As far as his loyalty, you need only look to his family back in New York to find it. Nothing above or beside the Family. Cross them, no matter if you're American or German, you'll be sorry. Who this family is, that's none of your damn business, so don't ask.

Role: Soldier, close quarters combat
Appearance

Silvio Colani

Personality: Silvio is just what you'd expect from an Italian-American New Yorker; loudmouthed and talkative, brash, easily insulted and fired up. At the other hand, he likes to crack jokes and give witty comments in the middle of battle. He's friendly enough and shows clear loyalty to his friends -at least those he likes in the team-, enough to protect them with his life. That applies to his family, only on a much larger scale. Where others might complete a mission by finesse and precision, Silvio "Machine gun Coloni" blasts his way through trouble with brawns and his beloved Chicago Typewriter.

Service History: Now one thing is important to remember when talking about Silvio's service record; he's been trying to get as far away from home as possible ever since "The Incident" happened to him. What "The Incident" was, he doesn't say, but it was so bad that he willingly joined the Army and went overseas when he just as easy could have stayed home and worked a decent job. His time in the Army however, oh how he likes to brag about it! He served with the US Rangers, 3rd Ranger Battalion, across the North African Coast against the German Afrikacorps. He proved himself to be just as effecient with his drum-magazine M1928A1 Thompson as with a knuckle-knife, earning him the respect and the nickname of "Machine gun Colani", as if he was something of a gangster. Oh if they only knew.

After the victory in North Africa, it was only natural that Silvio and the battalion partake in the invasion of Italy. Silvio started to act a bit odder after they landed on Italian soil, though nobody could figure out why. Perhaps it was the letters he suddenly started recieving? Regardless, his soon proved be just as lucky as he had been skillful. He was one of the few to escape the Battle of Cisterna, where most of the 1st and 3rd Ranger Battalions were killed or captured by the Germans. Where a Ranger normally would have been transferred to a new battalion, Silvio was offered to serve in the OSS. No specific reason was given, except his knowledge with Italian language and culture, and his guts. Regardless of this, he served in several operations throughout 1943, gaining new aquentices that he simply couldn't avoid even if he tried to. One such person was a certain British agent, hidden somewhere in Germany and doing God knows what. All he knew was that "someone" needed help with a "train robbery". Good thing Silvio knew how to run a train then.

Other:Silvio brandishes a Thompson M1928A1 sub-machine gun with a drum barrel, even if it isn't standard issue equiptment for the US Army. No one has dared to pull it away from his yet, and so far he likes it that way. Other than that he knows how to and does use most American equiptment, though perhaps a tad more fiercly than others might use them.

He speaks English and Italian fluently, and bits and pieces of German mostly taught in basic training. So he prefers to insults the Krauts in his prefered languages.

Sierra Vanguard (Espionage RP)

So...who wants to post then?

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Alexander Polawski

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Location: Newnan Hospital --> Heading south

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No, it was of no use for him to get up at the roof. Now that he looked around again, he saw to his surprise the height of the trees. At first he had thought they were just about the same height as the hospital, but at that second look he realized they must have grown quite well after the end of the world kicked in. And when he thought about it, the wild life - excluding the Walkers of course - did seem to enjoy this new world. The sound of birds singing off in the distance put a small smile on his face again. Like him, they welcomed spring.

He began walking, his sights set on the various pillars of smoke somewhere behind the trees and other objects hididng their true identity. As he put some distance between himself and the hospital, he wasn't sure what to feel or think. This was the first indication of human activity he'd come across in a while, and now he was heading for those who could have left it. Then again it could be nothing and he could be on a wild goose-chase after nothing. What would he find? Anything? Nothing? Death or Salvation? Only time would tell, as the old man wielding a pistol kept walking what he thought was southward.

🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S.

Haakon J. Elvsgaard

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Location:Qasr El Nil Barracks

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Haakon let his facial expression remain the same as he proceeded to take another sip of his tea - still quite the good taste -, while he question himself why he had bothered talking in the first place. It would seem that no one of his surrounding aqiuentances had registered him as he thought out aloud in regards to the dreams, they all seemed very much more important in messangers and others of more value; were he that distasteful? The curious state of which Miss Munn was however, was by now more interesting.

Especially when Peter dropped the bomb, figurativly; he had asked her for her courtship, and she accepted. Haakon couldn't help but notice Josephine's non-verbal reaction, yet his was far from in dissagreement. While Peter looked like he was going to a wedding, Vera looked like she was heading for a funeral. Her explaination containing large quantities of alcohol seemed logical, but the other possibility didn't seem far-fetched either.

But hey, who was he to ask? He probably wasn't going to be given an answer regardless.

Haakon was about to turn his attention to Mr. Drake, exchanging the usual pleasantries in hopes of less of a rejection, when he first heard Miss Munn's voice exclaiming something, a loud thud and Josephine declaring that she had fainted. Haakon looked at where Miss Munn had stood mere moments earlier, only to see her lying there. Josephine made her way to Vera first, and Haakon followed after. He knelt down beside her, putting his hand on her forehead to check if she was unormally warm. "Someone get a doctor here! Is she breathing? Miss Munn, can you hear me?"

Children of the Greatfather

@Dinh AaronMkOr perhaps he's stuck in the broom closet? Did anyone check there?